After the service, we walked out from the synagogue and spilled into the lobby. There were two tables where kosher wine was being served in plastic cups. The group of kids I was with were daring each other to grab one.
Back when I was 13, I remember grabbing that wine, as did a few other goons. We drank the room-temperature red and discarded the evidence swiftly.
Twenty years later, I still grab drinks with some of those goons, including the friend whose bar mitzvah I’d attended all those years ago. Recently, I walked over to that same temple to grab some food and, coincidentally, a drink in the form of a Seeded Rye Manhattan from a Jewish deli pop-up out of Cambridge.
It tasted better than that red wine did, though it, too, came in a plastic container. This time to-go. This time more mature.
Words + Photoby Samer Khudairi